Chapter XXX : Dawn of the Darkness
by NotPaul
Summary: [Fan-written future chapter of 'Hero's Might' based on BlackDragon41's writing challenge in 'Hero's Bane' Chapter 76 entry.]


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_**WARNING!**_

_**This is a writing challenge initiated by BlackDragon41 as said in chapter 76 of 'Hero's Bane'. All characters are belonged to her story (and Mojang, in a sense). I DO NOT copy her story. This is just a writing challenge.**_

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><p><em><strong>What is a friend for you?<strong> He asked, and I stood there, looking at him, saying nothing. He expected an answer, and he looked at me as if his life depended on it. I placed my hands in the pocket of my trousers. A friend, huh? _

_I drew a deep breath. _

**_"...Friend is...-_**

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><p><em><strong>Hero's Might<strong>_

_Chapter XXX_

_Dawn of the Darkness_

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><p>It was one strange journey, really. He did not really expect it to end this way. Lying down on a bed, weak, barely conscious, and infected is not really inside his mind. Once or twice a thought of zombies infecting him and making him an undead did pass his mind, but this? Really, he has no idea such thing will happen, but there is a great price to come and find the ancient Hero, and if this is one of the prices then he will take it and either sink or swim.<p>

Some hours in his plight he will open his eyes for a few seconds and managed to just catch a glimpse of the wall lined with cracks and moss. Sometimes he could hear Stephanie calling for his name, and she was crying again. Once he was a pair of bright eyes... but maybe that last one is just his imagination. He had seen how Herobrine treated him; as same as the others he had caught. There is now way under Aether that he would spend some of his time just to see him. Maybe it was the memories flooding back. He was not sure.

There are some times, however, where he just lie there, awake, but is unable to do anything. All he can do is listen, and when he does, he could hear every single little things in the dungeons. He could hear a child of a woman in the edge of the cells whimpering in hunger and fright. He could hear the hushes and whispers of the husbands. The folk songs old men sung quietly in the corner as they clap their hands. The sound of weeping widows as their families passed away due to the infection, and was dragged outside. Not sure what is the fate of the bodies. Maybe cremated. Maybe buried. Maybe just piled outside. He was not sure. His senses are very limited.

He heard Stephanie singing for him too. Sometimes, he could feel her warm hands on his cheeks and the feeling of being cradled. She sounded just like their mother, not only when she talk but also when she sung. She somehow knew his favorite lullaby their mom sung when they huddle together and storm rages outside. Maybe it was her favorite too. She never really talk much about it, but it makes him feel at peace, although everything else seemed to fade away from his grasp.

He can still think, in the midst of the fog of confusion. He is afraid, not of death, but of those he will leave when he does pass away. He would feel sorry and sometimes as he listened, he thought of his final words. Will he have time and strength to say goodbye to Stephanie? To Nigel? To everyone else? Should he say sorry? Sorry for waking Herobrine? Should he say that they will be okay? No, that is not helping the situation at all. The longer he think about it, the longer he felt internally frustrated, which quickly goes away as he slept and forgot when he woke up.

Today is dark again, when he opened his eyes. As usual. He doesn't know where the sunlight is, nor the moonlight. A putrid smell of death lingers in the air, slowly eating all of them alive, mentally and physically, but he doesn't really care. It's getting even harder to move and eat and stay awake.

He gasped and retched, dry coughs escaping his lips.

"Steve? Steve, you're awake?"

He can't really answer. How could he? After all these times he just realized his throat seemed shrivel and he can barely feel his tongue. He tried to turn his gaze upon the familiar voice of his sister, yet his neck seemed to be clamped in place and with every movement, something brittle seemed to crumble on his neck and arm, and this will make him exhale sharply. Half of his body felt numb. This scares him even more than pain. It makes him think that he was closing to his death, if death means you can no longer feel anything anymore.

Does this means his end is coming?

"Brother, shh... I'm here..."

Steve forced himself to open his heavy eyelids. If he's going to die, at the very least, let him see his sister. His last family member whom he know was alive. Of all people, he's supposed to protect her, and look what happened now? He can no longer protect her, and he could feel himself tugged in gently into the darkness. It feels comforting and welcoming, but he knew he was frightened. What is beyond death? What will happen to everyone once he was gone? Will Herobrine destroy all of them?

He was scared. He was helpless... but she should never know.

He has to give her hope.

His other arm starts to turn black now, as well, but at least he can still slightly move this one. Mustering all his strength, he slid his arm to where she sat, weeping for him, and placing it weakly on her lap. She took it and kissed it, warm tears flowing on the blackened fingers, and it somehow made him feel even more scared. He was frightened, and he felt cold and distant and sorrowful. Herobrine no longer scared him now. All that matters is the fear to realize you will leave everyone behind, including Stephanie, his only sister, and what was left of his family.

He started tearing too.

_Don't cry..._ He wanted to tell her that. He wanted to tell her that it's okay and big brother will truly recover. Big brother will shield her from the storms, from the mobs, from the darkness, yet he can do nothing but tremble and struggle to stay awake.

He was completely helpless, and he hated it.

"...D... cry... ig... o...ther..."

He heard her saying something, and her voice getting further and further from him. He felt her fingers wiping his tears away, and he felt nothing but remorse. His fuzzy vision slowly darkened, and he swallowed.

He wanted to see her again.

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><p>Herobrine paced in his throne room. The reports coming in are not as positive as he thought. Most of it were his mobs slowly succumbing into the infection, slowly and slowly decreasing in numbers. Some of the other mobs had started to clean up what was left of the bodies of their brethren and started dumping them into the nearby lava pool, watches as their sink and burn, and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Their morale is dropping, of course after whatever had happened and there is no cure nor any advance at all. They are getting restless, including the zombies.<p>

His mind is getting weary as well. What could this creature possibly be? What does it want, treading on his grounds and infecting anyone? It's not like the infected bodies have any use to them. Are they parasites? Perhaps? The frustration is catching up with him and he started to lose his resolve as well.

He not only have his thoughts on how to salvage his army, but also to the miner. His 'friend'. After all these times catching him, mistreat him, and try to choke information out of him, he still hasn't figured out answers to the questions he had in mind. After all these times, he has no idea who Steve is and who was himself in the past, and he cannot help but feel mighty disturbed by it. The fact that he almost know nothing. The fact that he had forgotten someone so important and so trusted that he once call 'friend'.

And after all these time he still cannot figure out who Steve is. Even when he lie dying on the bed, he still can't figure out. Maybe it was too late for answe-

No. He clenched his fists. That old human will find the cure. Steve will get better, and so will everyone else, and he will ease his thoughts and give him all the answers he needed.

Somehow a part of him told him that he will die either way, and once more he felt sorrow. He hated it. It makes him weak, this human, but he could not help but feel worry. He cannot kill him back then, at least to ease him from his pain. He cannot smite the people he loves too and instead, gave them a cell all for themselves. He felt pathetic, controlled by his emotions, and his need to know more about him.

Is this what it takes to have a 'friend'?

Is this what it means to be 'human'?

He hated it.

He clicked his tongue and made his way to the place where that old man was held. Of all people, he should be coming for a cure and he does not really give a damn about how specimens don't work and all of that. He has to find it. He has to. The sheer pressure of waiting and doing nothing made him felt like he was crushed under layers and layers of rocks. The feeling is suffocating, and he held it in, of course so nobody can ever see it and use it against him. However, it's still there. And he knew it will not go away no matter what he try.

Furthermore, of all people, he chose to depend and bet everything on this one old man.

Pathetic of him.

He flung the metal door open unceremoniously, eying the old man inside, hunched over bottles filled with potions and slightly colored fumes hung in the air like a thin mist. The former explorer was now stood upright and still, looking at Herobrine upon the noise he made as he entered. The former hero waved his hands to fan the fumes, as he impatiently trudged to Nigel and snarled in front of him, just behind the bars.

"You better have it right now."

Nigel raised a finger to say something, mouth gaping for some time before he sighed and shook his head, showing his defeat, yet again. He seemed to know that he has no reasons to back him up, and if he did, it is truly wise for him to not say anything lest he will anger Herobrine even more. The ancient hero slammed his fist to the bar, ignoring the dent he made, and gritted his teeth. if only Steve's life does not depend on this, he could have slain the old man since a long time ago. He still needed him to make cures for Steve and the others. However, if he failed to find it in time and let Steve succumb into his end, he will make sure Nigel pay with his own blood.

He noticed Nigel did not say anything, and quickly gathered more bottles instead and starting to work on it even more. He turned back to look at him. The latter seemed exhausted. Perhaps because he was of old age. Perhaps he did not sleep. He only worked hard to ensure the safety of his own head, perhaps? After some while he did not say anything, really. He used to be quite noisy before, and now he looked like nothing in the world matters but to make a cure.

"Do you... know how long will it take to complete or find the cure, mortal?" Herobrine asked, trying to sound monotone. Trying to sound he does not care of anything but his army. Trying to look strong.

Nigel did not seem to answer immediately. His hands were still on the bottles he acquired from the cabinet, and he turned to him, gaze fixed on the floor, and shook his head.

"...I... I have no clue."

"Mortal, I spare your life this long so you can make me a cure, not giving me an indefinite answer."

"B-but I really have no clue-"

"How. Long." Herobrine hissed venomously, his hand gripping a metal bar and denting it even further.

"...I would try my best..." Nigel gulped, his hands shakily tried to pour the contents of a bottle to another, and it failed miserably, pooling on the table, and was left ignored by both parties. Herobrine exhaled deeply, his gaze upon the former explorer once more.

"Five days."

Nigel looked at him, uncertain.

"I helped you decide. I give you five days to figure this out, otherwise you and the rest can be granted death. It would be so much easier for all of you than suffering through the infection. Five days, you hear me?"

A reluctant nod.

"Good." He breathed, and proceeded to head towards the exit.

"W-Wait!"

He turned, and Nigel flinched, a look of regret for calling the mighty hero out flashed on his face for a second, which quickly turned to worry.

"...How...How is Steve doing?"

Herobrine clicked his tongue. How he hated this topic. He used to enjoy describing pain and suffering to others, but not in this case. Once more, the feeling of pity and worry engulfed him, and he shook his head, trying to not care at all.

"He was suffering the spread of the infection. His other hand had blackened, including his nails, which is slowly spreading up to his arm. Half of him is already covered in dark splotches and it has spread to half his body, including his left cheek. His left leg is fully blackened now." He balled his fists. "He can no longer use clothes again because it was too painful for him to bear, so we left him with an underwear only and hang sheets on the cell opening so his sister and himself can have some privacy."

"He seemed to have lost a lot of weight. He can barely move or talk or be conscious, and he was very skinny. We could see his ribcage and his stomach just looked like it sunk in. We cannot get him to drink anymore. We can hardly hear him speak as well."

"...Dear God..." Nigel mumbled, a hand on his bearded face, and then to his eyes. He sighed, slightly leaning on the desk and the wall with his potion-covered hand as the remainder dripped from the table into the mossy floor below. He looked so much older afterwards. Herobrine kept looking at him, trying to look merciless. Once more, he failed.

"...I'm going to bet on all I have to find a cure for this... this cursed thing..." muffled the old man from behind his hand. "I'm too old already; I deserve to die after all those information I reaped... All those journeys and all my mistakes... But Steve, he was too young..."

A sigh, and his old, weary eyes appeared once more from behind the wrinkled fingers, and he looked back at the table of potions, and started working again. He said nothing at all afterwards, and so does Herobrine. They stayed where they were in silence.

And without any words spoken, they understood.

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><p>Stephanie looked down at where her brother lay. Her tears are all dried up now, and she can no longer weep or even sob. Just protectively cradling his brother's head against her lap, unmoving. She gently kissed his head as he shivered. She still has his hand on hers, grasping for dear life as he breathed unsteadily, shaking at the cold and the pain. He looked like he reduced to nothing but skin and bones now, and the thoughts of him dying as such made her sick. Starvation was always her number one fear and she never expected to live to see something similar, except this time, they have food but her brother cannot eat any longer.<p>

This is too much.

"...Stephanie?"

Her hollow gaze turned at the metal bars, covered with White sheets. She is reluctant to move from her place and her sleeping brother's, so she does not bother to look at whoever said that. The voice was familiar. She was sure it is Archer.

"...Were you... asleep? I-I apologize-"

"What time is it?" She croaked, eyes looking blankly at the white cloth. A few seconds pass before Archer replied:

"It's nighttime. That's why I'm trying to keep my voice low."

"Also why there are no voices of crying and pleading any longer. That's good." She closed her weary eyes, gently moved her arms from the stiff position so she can get a hold of Steve better as he sleep, so he does not get too hurt. Archer was silent again, but she could hear shifting. Perhaps he was trying his best to come closer to their cell by pressing himself to the edge of the bars, or just getting a more comfortable resting position. It does not matter, really.

"Stephanie... How was he?"

She looked at her brother._ He was dying_, she wanted to cry out. _He is dying on my arms and there is nothing I can do, yet again. It happened with mom too, and even this time I can't do it._ Instead, she said nothing, and thankfully the blond asked no more regarding the matter.

"...How... How are you, then?"

How is she? She looked at her left slightly at her shoulder, where black patches of infection started to grow and eating away whatever around it. It was spreading some more from what she knew yesterday, and she swallowed.

"I'll be okay."

She heard Steve whine in his sleep, and she smiled, void of all hopes and emotions, and she shushed him ever so gently, and kissed his forehead, before cradling him close to her chest slowly and brushes his hair, cooing him. He did this whenever there was a storm and she would trot to his room crying because she does not want to wake their sleeping parents. He would hum for her and hug her until she stopped crying.

This is the least she can do.

"...Stephanie... I... I need to... to say something..."

Silence.

"I... I waited until everyone's asleep... so you can... I can just..."

A brief silence, followed by a frustrated growl.

"...I.. I felt so... so guilty..."

She could hear his tone waver and crack.

"I should not have... said all of those things... All those terrible things to him... Should've known he meant everything but harm and suffering for all of us... He was too kind... I should not have judged him so... I... I was... I was furious... I...

"I realized after that day... the infection set in he was trying all his best to keep the others' morale high... He succeeded, even for just a bit... Now that he's wore than all of us I- we can't think of anything positive anymore. We're worried of him, finally... And when we do we realize how wrong we were... how judgmental we were... how inconsiderate... yet it was all thanks to him we are still here and conversing with each other.."

Stephanie was silent.

"...I wish he was awake to know how sorry I am... After all these times and he still considered me... Considered Leanne and Luna and Warren as friends... and here we are, too late to support him. Too late to be a friend for him..." He cringed. "He was too kind, I got sick of it..."

No answer, again. A sigh escaped the blond archer's lips.

"I apologize... I'll just sleep now..."

Stephanie blinked at the sound of shifting again from beyond the sheets. She said nothing. She cannot comfort him, because she was not her big brother. She can't be as strong as he is. She can't hide her emotions with a smile to make people worry less, just like he did. She always looked up to him, but can never be like him.

What can she do now, if she's alone?

She looked down at Steve, which seemed to ease. His breath was irregularly slow and unsteady.

She whimpered and broke into small sobs again.

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><p><em>"You're here a lot more than I expect."<em>

Steve nodded. It has occurred to him so much that he knew this was just him entering his memories again and again. He was aware for a lot of times. He knew.

And another him was looking down on him.

_"How is it, me? Realizing that you are going to die soon?"_

Steve shrugged at his copy._ "I... I don't know what to say."_

_"Ah."_ The copy smiled. In the distance, he could see bright plains and a small house. He saw his mother, young and happy, doing the laundry, and there he was, Stephanie and himself, running in circles in the fields, chasing each other with sticks in their small hands. Mother was calling for them, which was gone ignored. Instead, his father showed up behind her and encircle his hands around her waist, before planting a side kiss on her cheek. She giggled.

Steve watches from a top of the hill, along with the other him. He kept watching and watching, and the sun is slowly moving as he does, from the east to the west. The grass under him swayed gently, tickling the sides of his bare feet.

_"Guess it is true that someone's final thoughts will be of their family."_ The copy turned at Steve, who was on the grassy ground, his chin rested on his folded knees. The breeze felt great on his face, although it was not real. But it is a memory he held so dearly; he can sense it as well as a reality, at least for him.

_"I suppose..."_ He answered back, his gaze turned towards his other self for a small moment.

_"And talking to yourself and contemplate is also one of the things one do upon facing death."_

_"I am quite aware."_ Steve chuckled. The sun was setting before he knew it, and by then the family had moved into the house, the children running in trailing dirt all over the floor. Steve blinked.

_"I missed those days I was younger and spending time with my family."_

_"Me too."_

_"I can't believe I realized that I really valued them after dad was gone... Maybe I was too young back then to understand. Too childish. Not mature enough to think that one day everything will be gone." _

_"It wasn't your fault." _

_"Funny, isn't it? I was the older brother and here I am... leaving before Stephanie."_ He said, sorrowfully. _"Back then I promised I will work and get money for us to be happy again after dad was gone..."_

_"And still, we can't fulfill that, can we?"_

_"Exactly my point."_

_"Do you regret it?" _

_"...Nobody would like it if I do... but yes, aside from that, I do have countless of regrets. But what does it matter now?"_

The sky turned orange by now, and the wind is getting stronger, but still gentle. Steve breathed in. It smells like freshly cut summer grass, still. It soothes him. Puts his mind in ease. It smells just like the home he remembered. It has been years and years ago, long forgotten, but he was sure home always smells like this.

Whether the memory is accurate or not, he does not really care.

_"What about Herobrine...?"_ He mumbled. He is getting sleepy, and the sky is getting redder.

_"I'd wish him the best of luck."_ His other self answered, tucking the longer strands of his hair behind his ear as the wind passed them. _"It's a shame that he won't even know me, no matter how hard I try to explain."_

_"I wonder if he'll remember after I die."_

_"Shame. That would be painful to him."_

_"I wish he don't go killing and blaming everyone... He has a bad temper when he remembered me long time ago and considered me friend. I'm not sure if that trait ever left him; that grumpy stoic."_

A gruff chuckle.

_"...Do you think he would be fine if we die? He was my friend. I am quite worried about him." _

No answer.

_"...What about Nigel?"_

_"If he does not find the potion, I would still thank him. Old men should not try that hard. He should be retired and living a dream somewhere, not forcing himself to cure me."_

_"Luna? Archer? Everyone else?"_

Steve closed his eyes.

_"I wished I said goodbye and thank them for the time they gave me."_

The copy does the same.

_"...Me too."_

When he opened his eyes, the sky was littered with stars. Countless of them. The moon is nigh, illuminating the plains with a gentle glow. The air is colder and still fresh. He could smell roasted chicken. From the window, he could see them having dinner together. Stephanie was beaming so big, he could see her lost tooth. His younger self was laughing, having two pieces of chicken his in hand. His father smiled as his wife scolded the children. The glow from the window is so welcoming, yet so far away.

He did not realize tears started pouring down his face and onto the grass. He smiled a bit, his voice cracked.

_"I want to see everyone again..."_

_"Don't we?"_ the copy smiled, standing up. _"Come." _

_"...Are we leaving so soon?" _

_"It depends on how strong you are." _

_"...Am I?"_

"You are me. What do you think?" The other self smiled gently, offering him a hand.

Steve slowly takes it and stood up. He looked up to the sky and turned back at the copy. He smiled. Steve wiped his tears with the back of his hand, and he felt like everything got brighter and brighter and so much warmer. It slowly got white.

_"I..."_

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><p>Herobrine paced down the hallway, followed by some of his creeper underlings. The sudden wail of a woman had startled him during his talk with his army, and he damn well wished it worth his time.<p>

He pushed the door open to see many of the people in the cells had woken up, leaning on the walls and on the bars wearily, which completely changed into mild fear as he made his way down the hall, looking around for a crying woman. Most of them are either half awake or frightened, and some children seemed to whimper under his intense glare.

An old man, half his hand blackened due to the infection, gulped and silently gestured a bony finger at the edge of the corridor, to a cell at the end of the corridor, covered with white sheets. He turned at it, and he sighed. Stephanie had started crying again. This has happened for some time randomly, between days and nights, and this kind of behavior had managed to get his attention all the time. He shook his head and comes near to the entrance.

"Stephanie, uncover the blinds."

There are no respond but crying, and the ancient hero was getting impatient. He knocked on the bars loudly.

"Woman, stop crying at once."

Hearing no respond still, he clicked his tongue and slip his fingers in to push the sheets away o create a small opening where he can look through. She was hunched, weeping, her brother in her lap and his head leaned limply on her chest. She rocked him back and forth as she wept, cradling him like he was her lifeline. Herobrine sighed.

"Stephanie, stop that. You will hurt him even more."

She sobbed even more as she cradled him closer, her mouth opened in a silent wail. Herobrine turned at one of the creepers and it nodded, giving him the key to the cell. He placed it in and unlocked the bars, stepping in.

"Stephanie, doing that will not help him. I did tell you th-" He stopped. A feeling of dread slowly creeping up to him, and he knows this feeling very well. He quickly went near them and looked at the limp man, observing him carefully as his sister wept beside him, his unmoving hand intertwined with hers.

He's not breathing.

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><p><em><strong>AN: I am so sorry. ^ ^" **_

_**I hope the feels is not too much**_


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